The Art of Alimentarius Corruptela
by shadowfoot
Summary: Pansy always gets what she sets her sights on, and currently the crosshairs are on Ron Weasley. However, her path to get what she wants may not be without obstacles...such as drunken matchmaking houselves.
1. Raptus Regaliter

A/N: Please see disclaimer on my bio page. It extends to all the stories I post here. This is meant to be rather light and funny. It is a bit different than my other story. I hope however, that people still enjoy.

Warnings: There will be smut in the future and light language scattered in strategic places.

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"…128, 129, 130, 131…"

"Pansy, what the bloody hell are you doing? Your counting is disturbing my afternoon nap."

Draco cracked an eye at the girl lounging next to him on a large warm rock at the edge of the Lake's shore. Crabbe and Goyle stood impassively blocking the sun's rays from their master's fair skin.

Pansy glanced sideways at Draco through her long dark lashes.

"Oh, I'm just trying to count the number of freckles on Weasley's back, since he and his friends are sunbathing right below us."

Draco sat up so fast that Crabbe almost didn't move in time to block the direct sunlight that would have fallen on Draco's face. Draco shot him a glare and filed that away for later, before turning said glare to Pansy. He studied her for a moment. Her hair was currently black—there was no telling what color it would be tomorrow. Ever since she had discovered that blasted spell in Witch Weekly, she'd been going through the spectrum of colors. She'd even sported a blond that matched Draco's for a week, much to his chagrin. Her eyes were deep lavender—that was natural as far as Draco knew. Pansy smirked at him before turning back to her amusement, playing with one of her curls. This was bad.

"NO. No, this is wrong Pansy. I can't believe that you are even thinking what I know you are thinking. We may have decided not to take sides in this little fiasco of a war, but that doesn't mean you can get friendly with a Weasley. I absolutely forbid it…" Pansy arched a delicate eyebrow but did not look at him.

_Shit._

"…I mean think rationally Pansy. I doubt it would even work. Not even you could turn Weasley from making moon eyes at the mudblood." Pansy grinned.

_Damn._

Draco opened his mouth to try again, but Pansy cut him off. "Oh look, there's the weaselette. I think that she might be going sunbathing. What interesting swimwear."

Without even realizing what he was doing, Draco had joined Pansy in looking over the edge of the rock. A slight tinge of pink suffused his face. Pansy looked at him innocently for a moment before the expression became mocking. Innocence simply doesn't stick to the face of a Slytherin. Draco cleared his throat.

"See, the Weasley's are so poor they couldn't even afford a decent amount of material for their daughter's swimwear." Pansy raised both eyebrows and batted her lashes. Crabbe was making a sound suspiciously like a chuckle hidden by a coughing fit and Goyle had simply covered his face with one massive hand. Damn, they really were smarter than they looked—which was not really a great accomplishment. They had found a tutor somewhere and had been much harder to work with ever since. Pansy had resumed counting. Draco sighed. Once Pansy made up her mind, there was no changing it. Sometimes he wished that she had joined the Death Eaters. Let the Dark Lord try and deal with her. She'd probably give him a run for his money. Draco propped his chin on his hand and glanced back down at Ginny. It really was an indecent amount of material…but he found little else to complain about.

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"Umm, 'mione…I think Parkinson's gone barmy. She keeps smiling at me like she wants to eat me or something." Ron was careful not to speak until he had chewed all of his food. Hermione had hexed him last time he accidentally sprayed her with pumpkin juice.

"Hmm, that's nice." She didn't even look up from the letter she was writing. A letter to Viktor Krum. Ron turned sulkily to Harry, only to realize that he was deep in conversation with Ginny, both with copies of the Quibbler turned upside down in front of them. They seemed to have come across something of interest and were animatedly discussing it. Luna had wondered over and they seemed to be asking her some questions. Ron quickly looked around for someone else to talk to, but they were all busy with conversations and homework. Colin Creevy caught his eye and flashed him a big toothy grin and started to walk over to Ron, but his camera strap caught on Dennis' arm, and the two of them went crashing to the floor. Ron groaned and looked morosely at the plate of sticky buns in front of him. Just as he reached for one, it disappeared. It was just going to be one of those days.

He slowly reached for another one, just waiting for it to disappear, wondering if his brothers had snuck in again just to play another trick on him. Nothing happened and he safely retrieved a bun. It was halfway to his mouth when he happened to look over at the Slytherin table.

Pansy was staring at him again. Only this time, she had a sticky bun in her hand—his sticky bun—the one that had disappeared. Delicately, she raised the pastry to her lips, all the while maintaining eye contact with the stunned Gryffindor. He gulped as she slowly slid her tongue out and swirled it across the grooves of the bun, licking off the pale creamy icing. Ron barely noticed when his own sticky bun fell from his fingers and back onto the plate with a dull thunk. A smack on the back of the head brought him out of his trance.

"Falling asleep over breakfast again?" Harry grinned at him.

"Umm, uh 'spose." Ron glanced back over at the Slytherin table, but Pansy and her rather disturbing pastry were gone. He looked down at his own plate of sticky buns and stared at them with shock for a moment before pushing the plate away and slamming his head into the table. Repeatedly.

"Er, Ron…are you alright there?" Ron could hear the worry in Harry's voice.

"Should I get Madame Pomfrey? Did someone hex you again?" Even Hermione sounded worried. He had to be gratified by that didn't he?

"No, I'll be fine. Just…give me a moment will you?"

The other two agreed and left for morning classes.

Ron sat up and gingerly moved away from the plate of sticky buns. It really was a shame. He wouldn't be able to eat one again—not without thinking things he really shouldn't, foremost of which was that he had never in his life wanted so much to be a pastry.


	2. Die dulci fruere

Pansy was humming to herself again. She felt that breakfast had gone very well indeed. She had run into Draco outside of the great hall when she was making her perfectly timed exit. He had been staring at the Gryffindor table almost as if he were under a spell. Pansy had followed his line of sight and realized it fell upon a certain red-haired weaselette. Draco had of course come up with some very lame excuse as to why he was even looking in that direction.

"Draco, really. You are a Malfoy, for Mordreth's sake. Go after what you want. No matter what or who it is. Sometimes it's almost as if you're not a Slytherin at all. Are you sure you weren't sorted into Hufflepuff?

That did it. The smirk returned, the spine straightened, and Pansy could almost see the gears turning behind the pale, grey eyes once again. He stalked off in the other direction, certainly planning a way to get what he wanted.

Pansy's sly grin graced her face. Well, that got him out of the way. He would now be too busy with his own conquest to interfere with hers. Pansy slipped away through one of the castle's secret corridors and managed to get to Transfigurations early. She carefully arranged herself to fullest advantage in her seat, which would be visible to Weasley when he and his friends entered the room.

Pansy knew that she was not, technically, pretty. Her nose, which was truly her worst feature, tended to turn up in a rather tragic way and her face was a bit too round. However, her violet eyes and currently glossy dark curls, as well as full lips and figure, drew most of the attention away from her flaws. Pansy also had patience and persistence. There was a reason why her patronus was a hunting cat.

It was a bit disappointing when Potter and the mudblood entered without her quarry, but not entirely unexpected. Pansy was aware of what kind of effect she could have on boys. When he did come in, she made certain that she was very carefully not looking in his direction. In fact, she waited until he had been staring at her for almost a minute before she gave him a sly glance. It really was quite adorable the way he turned all red like that. His face almost matched his hair.

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Ron spun around suddenly, once again feeling like someone was following him. As he had done this several times in the last few minutes, Harry and Hermione were beginning to be a bit worried. The first few times could just be attributed to the fact that he was Ron, but it was beginning to be a bit ridiculous.

"Uh Ron, there still isn't anyone back there mate. Has Peeves been playing pranks on you again?"

"Ron, really. We're going to be late for lunch again. Then you'll be upset when there aren't any more current buns…" Hermione trailed off as she took in Ron's now rather spacey expression. She knew about Ron's obsession with food, but he hadn't, as far as she knew, ever daydreamed about current buns right in the middle of walking to lunch.

Ron gulped suddenly and looked very determined. "Well, hurry up you two; we haven't got that much time. We might be late." With that, he strode forward purposefully, robes flapping around his ankles. Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances and followed behind.

With his head held high, Ron walked into the Great Hall, desperately trying to keep his eyes from straying to the Slytherin table. He almost made it. However, Luna chose that moment to start her Gryffindor hat roaring. Ron instinctively looked in that direction. He was poised at the very edge of his house table. Harry and Hermione were right behind him. They too had looked over when Luna set off the hat and were laughing about it. It took them a moment to realize that Ron had not resumed walking to the table. Without saying a word to them, he turned on his heel and walked directly out of the Great Hall. Harry ran after him, but Ron stopped, looking rather panicked, and told him that he wasn't hungry. He insisted that Harry return and eat. Although Harry didn't want to leave Ron in this uncharacteristic state of no appetite, Ron didn't seem to want him around, so he gave up and left.

Ron ran directly to the nearest rest room and began splashing water on his face. He looked in the mirror almost to be certain that it really was himself looking back.

"Okay Ron, think of something not related to Pansy…Umm, quidditch!" He paused a moment, glanced down, and quickly looked back up at the mirror. "Snape in a dress…Snape in Pansy's dress…Pansy without her dress…Oh gods!"

Without hesitation, Ron turned and began to smack his head against the wall. Moaning Myrtle, apparently drawn by an aura of misery surrounding the boy, floated up beside him.

"Come now, it really can't be that bad. After all, you're still alive."

Ron looked up at her with a look of abject wretchedness. His voice, when it came out was low and husky, although it cracked in the middle a bit. "She—she had a banana!" With this ostensibly gloomy statement, punctuated by a particularly painful sounding head smack against the wall, Ron slid to the ground insensible.

Moaning Myrtle looked at the now unconscious Weasley with some concern, thinking about what he had said. She looked at him again, her eyes wondering. Suddenly a cunning look came onto her face and her eyes grew wide.

"Oh my."

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Meanwhile, Pansy, unaware of the effect that she had on a certain redhead, was brandishing the banana at Draco, that having been the first piece of fruit she managed to grab.

"You git, you can't do that to a girl. I'm surprised she didn't hex your balls to fly around like bats. Great, now I'm going to have to come up with a plan for you to follow to keep you out of my hair. I'm having enough Weasley problems as it is without having to focus my creative energies on yours." She punctuated each word with a resounding smack on Draco's arm from the abused fruit in her hand.

Draco smirked obnoxiously, still slightly sullen from having been beaten with a phallic symbol. Pansy glared at him.

"The weasel either has more will power than I gave him credit for, or he really is as dense as I've always believed. She risked a surreptitious glance at the Gryffindor table and found that the Golden Trio seemed to only be a duet today. She gave a frustrated growl and threw the rather mashed banana over her shoulder, hitting Blaise in the back of the head. He turned around, wand drawn, but seeing Pansy's scowl and Draco's frantic warning from behind her, he simply inclined his head as if she'd given him a present and turned around. Blaise was very brave in ordinary circumstances, but not in the least stupid. He knew when to let something go.


	3. Re vera, potas bene

Ron was in the kitchens, once again slamming his head into the wall, only this time he had company. Dobby was standing right next to him, mirroring the confused Gryffindor's movements. Winky looked up drunkenly from her place by the fire and hiccupped mildly in their direction. Ron realized that he needed to stop this before Dobby injured himself.

"Dobby stop it would you. I already told you that you haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why is Weasley punishing himself. Dobby must know. Harry Potter would not be happy if his Weasley became mentally unstable."

"I can't eat, Dobby! That's the problem! Anytime I even think about food, I—well I experience a potentially embarrassing situation because food reminds me of Pansy and when I think about Pansy, I think about what Pansy did to that damn sticky bun and how much I want Pansy to—well…I thought maybe if I came _here_ to eat, it would help, but—"

"Dobby offered Weasley a sticky bun. Dobby is so sorry. Dobby will shut his nose in a cupboard. Dobby will—"

"Dobby will figure out how to help Weasley." This suggestion came from Winky, who cradled a butterbeer in the crook of her arm and winked slowly at Dobby, who blushed.

The Malfoy's former house elf looked at Harry Potter's red-haired friend. Ron was looking despondently at a plate of peas. Suddenly he put his head in his hands.

"I can't survive like this! Even a plate of peas, damn it. Pansy's name begins with a P. I'm going to starve to death in a kitchen full of food."

Dobby's eyes narrowed. "Did she look in Weasley's eyes while playing with the sticky bun?"

"Oh yes. That was the worst part…those violet eyes. It was like taking a bath in purple kool-aid. I felt like she could see right through my clothes and knew exactly what I was thinking."

"Hmmm. Dobby is only a house elf, but he may know something to help Harry's Weasley. Dobby thinks Weasley is a victim of the Art of Alimentarius Corruptela." Dobby's big solemn eyes bored into Ron's now rather wide ones.

"Aliwhatala?" It was a rather menacing name, and Ron looked a little pale under his freckles.

"Alimentarius Corruptela. It means the art of food seduction. It is a spell of sorts. Dobby once heard Mistress speak of it. Many of the ladies in Slytherin use it to umm…attract a mate."

Ron choked incredulously, and Winky giggled and hiccupped loudly.

"Umm, Pansy's attractive and all but why me? I suppose she could have run through the gamut of Slytherin males by now…maybe she's bored." Ron was silent for a moment thinking and distractedly eating the sticky bun Dobby offered him earlier. "If she's bored, then seducing me is nothing but a game. I wouldn't put it past her." His eyes drifted to the black and white tiled floor of the kitchen for a moment. A rather cunning look came over his face. "So far, Pansy has made strong opening moves and I've only responded in a weak defense. If I'm going to survive this game, I need to make some offensive moves…" Ron looked down at his sticky bun in shock. "Hey! How come it's not affecting me anymore?"

"Once the victim of Alimentarius Corruptela knows that he has fallen under the spell, the effects wear off. Of course, ladies keep the spell a secret. Master Lucius, is, as Dobby understands it, still suffering its effects."

"I _really_ didn't need to know that," he shuddered.

"What does Weasley plan to do?"

"I think I'll play some chess."

Dobby looked blankly at the young master, wondering if he had suffered damage from banging his head after all.

By the fire, Winky grinned slyly as she sipped her butterbeer.

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"Draco, darling" Pansy gritted between her teeth, nursing the beginnings of a stress headache, "how in Morgana's name did you manage to seduce any girl in Slytherin? I know you didn't use the tactics that you are attempting with Ginny Weasley, because had you attempted anything as imbecilic on one of us, you would have woken up naked and covered in owl droppings in the Great Hall ten seconds before breakfast in the middle of winter. What is wrong with you? Maybe we should call you the court jester of Slytherin rather than the prince." Pansy was so angry at this point that she was growling.

Looking rather sullen as Pansy tried to undo the results of a rather ingenious hex that had turned each individual hair on his charming head chartreuse, Draco didn't even bother to respond. The truth was that he had no idea what had come over him. He simply couldn't manage to be his usual controlled, suave self around Ginny Weasley. He somehow managed to insult her at the same time he was trying to compliment her. This last time he had tripped—imagine, a _Malfoy_ tripping—and caught himself…on her chest. Draco knew he was lucky to have escaped that one with such minimal damage.

His eyes glossed over and a silly, stupid grin spread lazily across his face. Landing on her chest was a lucky bonus; it could have been Potter. At least Ginny was…softer…Pansy smacked him on the back of the head and hissed at him. Draco pouted, resting his chin on his hand and blowing a strand of violently green hair out of his eyes.

_Stupid hex. Really, it wasn't all _that_ brilliant._

Of course, even Pansy seemed to be having trouble undoing the hex. She cursed volubly and creatively as Draco's hair changed to saffron as soon as she thought she had finished returning it to its original white gold.

"Hey Pans--"

Pansy squeaked and cursed. Crabbe had managed to sneak up behind her.

"—there's a package out in the hallway for you." Crabbe turned to Draco. "That's a very lovely shade of blue. The darker stripes are a nice touch," he said politely before lumbering off, trying to suppress his laughter. Draco sent him a patented Malfoy death stare.

_Mental note: kill the goons' tutor as unpleasantly as possible, as soon as I figure out who the dead man walking might be._

Sighing, Pansy patted Draco on his strikingly azure head, and walked out into the hallway. She returned moments later with a small box wrapped in green and gold. Happy to have something to take his mind off of his hair, Draco pestered Pansy to open her gift. Instead, she picked up the card that had been lying under the box and opened it.

After a moment, a strange look crossed her face and Pansy turned toward Draco with her wand lifted. "Finite Lorealis," she pronounced with conviction. Then she nodded once and picked up her silver hand mirror. Draco's hair was back to normal.

"What—how did you—thanks, Pansy. How did you know how to remove the hex?"

"You had better be nicer to Weasley for the next few days. He included the counterhex in his card. He seemed to know that I would end up stuck here trying to pick up your mess." She shot Draco a sly look. "He called himself my knight in red and gold armor, saving me from an afternoon of fixing your hair."

Both the Slytherins had a laugh at the Gryffindorkishness of that sentiment.

"Apparently your wiles worked Pansy. What did the Weasel send you?"

Pansy opened the package, pulling out the gift. It was the night from a wizard's chess set. Draco smirked at the cheesiness of the present and turned to look once again in the mirror, checking to make certain his hair was still back to normal. However, Pansy looked more closely at the knight. Her breath caught. The knight was enchanted to look like Ron Weasley, complete with maroon Weasley jumper and freckles. The tiny figure was eating a sticky bun and winking.


	4. Adamo et appugno

A/N: Thank you all once again for reading this story. I am sorry that it is taking me so long to post, but I have school right now and I am writing a novel, so that is making things difficult. However, I will try to update at least once a month and I will not abandon my story, so bear with me. As usual the disclaimer and responses to recent reviews can be found on my bio page. Without further ado, here is your next installment.

Pansy found herself in something of a quandary. Did Weasley know? If he did, this little game just got a whole lot more interesting. Her violet eyes narrowed in thought, Pansy twirled a dark curl around one finger and tapped a perfectly manicured dark green polished nail on her teeth. Thinking of her next move, Pansy only gradually became aware of shrieking coming from behind her in the common room.

Her eyes widened in shock. Draco was running around waving his arms and shrieking. Normally, this would not be in his character in the least, but he seemed to be on fire.

Even a Malfoy has trouble keeping his composure under such circumstances. He had also been under a great deal of stress lately, Pansy reflected as she calmly got up from her seat by the small library in the Slytherin common room. She aimed her wand at him and muttered a spell. Immediately, a torrent of very cold water from the lake dropped from the ceiling and onto Draco. It was a good thing the common room was underneath the lake, or Draco might still be spontaneously combusting.

Strangely enough, he was completely uninjured. Stranger still, he continued running around screaming. Her eyes narrowed again. There was a second hex…no, a jinx. That Weasley girl was tricky—a worthy adversary for Draco if he could get himself together long enough to retaliate. Pansy was concerned that Draco might have actually fallen for the Weaselette. That simply wouldn't do. He knew the rules of the game just as well as she.

As fascinating as it was to watch the most self-controlled person she knew making a fool of himself, Pansy knew Draco would not thank her for prolonging this. Even though Pansy had the liberty of being Draco's best friend and often got away with more than anyone else dared, even she still shivered at the thought of Draco's wrath. He could be positively frightening when he wanted to be. Besides, she had more to think of right now than a spoiled prince in a snit.

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Ron was pacing again. Hermione was writing another letter and Harry was simply watching his best friend in amusement, eyes flicking back and forth as if watching a particularly rhythmic quidditch match. Glancing at his watch, Ron let out a small laugh and turned to his friends.

"Time to go to the Great Hall for dinner."

Both Harry and Hermione looked oddly at Ron at this point. This was the last straw for Hermione.

"Ronald Weasley, what has gotten into you? First you act like you never want to see food again; you seem overly paranoid in the hallways; now you are eager to get to dinner and you're chuckling about it. We can see there's something wrong. Are you going to tell us, or are we going to have to figure it out for ourselves? I, for one, am getting tired of this behavior."

Ron simply looked at Hermione. The light in his eyes reminded Harry of when he stopped a Slytherin from making a goal in Quidditch.

Ron smiled absently at his friend and calmly stated "Don't worry 'mione. Why don't you just finish your letter? I'm sure Victor is waiting eagerly for it."

Normally, this statement, coming from Ron, would have been delivered in exaggeratedly huffy tones, signaling his jealousy of the Bulgarian seeker, but strangely enough, he actually seemed to mean it this time. His voice didn't hold a hint of anything but vague sincerity.

"I'm going ahead, if that's all right. See ya' later Harry."

With that, the redhead walked out of the common room and stepped through the portrait, whistling all the way.

Hermione turned to Harry with a strange look in her eyes. It almost looked as if she had been saving a piece of candy for after dinner and someone had come along and snatched it while she was eating something else.

Harry just shrugged. Privately, he was glad that Ron seemed to be moving on. Hermione played him and Victor against each other much too often, even if she didn't realize she was doing it.

With an apologetic glance back at Hermione, Harry hurried after Ron to the Great Hall, hoping to get some idea of what was going on with his best friend.

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Attempting to look as if she weren't avidly watching the doors of the Great Hall, Pansy occupied herself with trying to read the letter Draco had just received by owl. It didn't seem to be pleasant news. Draco was glaring at the letter quite intently. It wouldn't have surprised Pansy if that look burned a hole through the paper. A few seconds later, it did burst into flames, and Pansy could see Draco's wand peeking out of his sleeve before he pushed it back into the special pocket where he kept it. He held onto the burning paper for longer than was safe, and very calmly dropped the mess into his empty goblet. When the paper had turned to mere ashes, he poured water into the goblet, and it disappeared. While she was trying to gain some clue from Draco's moody expression, a glimpse of red caught her eye.

Pansy allowed her violet eyes to drift in the direction of the red flash. She looked through her thick lashes toward the Gryffindor table. She snorted quietly. It wasn't the Weasel, but the Weaselette. Once again twining her dark hair through her fingers, Pansy looked with interest at Draco. His eyes were following Ginny's every move. There was hunger, confusion, and frustration in his eyes—if you knew what to look for. To almost anyone else, it simply looked as if today was a day to be particularly careful around the blond Slytherin. Blaise started to say something to Draco, but seemed to think twice about it, letting his own glance stray to Ginny Weasley briefly. Apparently he too had been enlisted in Draco's attempts to catch the Weaselette's attention. Goyle boldly leaned over and whispered something in Draco's ear.

With interest, Pansy watched Draco's face clear suddenly, as if something had just fallen into place. He nodded, looking up at Goyle and narrowing his eyes a bit. For his part, Goyle simply looked patiently at the other boy. Then he began to make his way out of the Great Hall. Draco hesitated a moment and then followed.

As Pansy's gaze followed the two, Ron walked into the Great Hall. He seemed much more at ease, and Pansy's speculations were confirmed. He did know. Now, what would he choose to do with the knowledge? Alimentarius Corruptela wasn't exactly unforgivable, but it was frowned upon. If he so chose, she could be expelled from Hogwarts. She watched him surreptitiously as he moved to his table, unconsciously noticing the keeper's strong build. He had really grown into his height these past two years. No longer clumsy or lanky, he walked with more grace than he had previously shown. Pansy licked her lips. A Ravenclaw walking to his table happened to see the sultry gesture, and walked right into another student who was just getting up. Pansy didn't notice at all. Her eyes were on a certain freckled Gryffindor.

Sitting down, he piled his plate high with food and poured himself some pumpkin juice. Then he looked up. Pansy's breath caught. His eyes were so blue she could see them from across the hall. He wasn't casting a spell on her, but it certainly felt like it the moment their eyes met. Then he smiled at her and raised his goblet, a light of challenge in his eyes. Amused and relieved and a bit surprised, Pansy raised her crystal chalice in acknowledgement and they toasted each other, never breaking eye contact. Pansy felt an excitement that she hadn't felt since she and Draco first made up this game. She finally had a worthy opponent. The question was who would win?


	5. Quo signo nata es

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is still following this story. I hope that you enjoy this next installment. Bit of a cliffy, but it shouldn't be _too _long until my next update. TTFN, Shadow

P.S. As usual, my disclaimer for all stories can be found on my bio page.

Draco stood in the hallway facing his former minions. Former, because he had a feeling that they had outgrown the minion phase. Furthermore, he was beginning to get a picture of just who was behind this growth.

Goyle was looking at him very seriously. "Drake, what is going on with you?"

Draco winced at the nickname, but didn't say anything. Goyle and Crabbe had known him since birth. Draco had grown out of the nickname, but Goyle had never grown out of calling him that.

"What do you mean?" he said coldly—more coldly than he had intended. Goyle took it in stride, knowing Draco better than almost anyone, except maybe Pansy. Crabbe just shook his head in amusement.

"The way you're trying to win Ginny—I—well…frankly it's pathetic mate." Goyle looked apologetic, but firm.

Crabbe chimed in. "You're usually a little better at this sort of thing. Your attempts seem to lack finesse. It's like you're trying to play pranks on her rather than get her to like you."

Draco scowled. His housemates backed up slightly.

_Well, at least that's something. They still know not to get on my bad side._

He arched an elegant eyebrow at them. "Since when are you on a first name basis with a Weasley?"

Both Crabbe and Goyle looked startled and then sheepish. Improved they might be, but they still were no match for Draco.

Draco looked at his oldest companions. Really, they weren't all bad aside from needing a little more patience to deal with than most people. He decided not to kill them. For the moment.

"I've been taking advice from an undisclosed and apparently completely unreliable source, as well as Pansy and Blaise. For some reason I simply don't know what to do when I'm not playing by the rules of the game."

"Game?"

_Dear Crabbe. How I've missed that completely imbecilic expression. At least not everything changes._

"It's something Pansy and I came up with to occupy our time when we first began to really notice the opposite sex. We decided to compete against each other…sort of divide and conquer. I would see how many girls I could seduce and she would see how many boys would fall for her little schemes. We came up with rules—never get emotionally involved, first base doesn't count—things like that. I've never had a problem with the rules, or the game until now, although my interest had already flagged considerably. I haven't had a target at all for the last two months."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair distractedly before he realized what he was doing and quickly smoothed out the damage he had caused.

"Unfortunately, I seem to actually be breaking several of the rules currently—first and foremost the one about never getting emotionally involved. Ginny is…well. Let's just say I've never felt that I've met my equal before." He smirked without realizing it.

Goyle groaned. "First of all Drake, Ginny won't be impressed with how immodest you are."

Draco paused and considered for a second. "Yes, I suppose that did sound a bit arrogant didn't it? Malfoys do tend to be naturally self-confident." He looked unrepentant.

Crabbe snickered. "What an interesting way of putting things. You're the only person I know who could be arrogant about your arrogance."

Goyle sighed. "Listen. Just do the same things you usually do to win women—be charming, give her meaningful gifts, flirt—just actually be sincere about it. If you think she's special then give her the consideration of actually getting to know you. Even your faults and quirks."

Draco sniffed. "Malfoys do not have faults or quirks—"

"So singing incredibly off pitch in the shower is not a quirk?" Goyle commented.

Crabbe gave him a conspiratorial glance. "I don't know about that Goyle, although I believe sleeping with a stuffed plush snake would be considered a quirk."

There was a giggle behind them. Draco, who had been rapidly turning white with indignation, now actually blushed and turned around slowly.

_Shit. _

Ginny was standing behind him in an alcove, brown eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. She had obviously been standing almost the entire discussion.

Draco turned around to vent his embarrassment on his cronies, but their new training had enabled them to detect a dangerous situation and they had executed a strategic retreat.

When Draco turned back, Ginny was about four inches away from him. She had moved up behind him.

"I like quirks. I still sleep with a stuffed kneazle." She smiled at him. Considering that it was the first time she had done so without it being completely at his expense, he ran with it.

"I like muggle country music."

Ginny took Draco's arm. "Tell me more."

"I'm allergic to cotton."

"So that's why you insist…well I've heard things from your former—conquests. What else?"

"I _really_ have a thing for redheads." This was whispered close to Ginny's ear. Draco's breath stirred the hair on her neck and she shivered.

"Tell me just one more thing for now and I'll forgive you and let you have a chance." She glanced up at him coyly through her lashes and Draco's breath caught. He found himself nodding without realizing it. "Who was the undisclosed source who was giving you such bad advice?"

Draco sighed in defeat. "Fred and George. They sent me a letter this morning informing me that you would really prefer to have no hair at all and enclosed the spell that I should use. They said that doing so would not fail to catch your attention."

Ginny looked at him in shock before bursting out laughing. After a moment, the corner of Draco's mouth twitched. After two moments, a grin escaped. Then he went so far as to chuckle. Ginny's laughter was contagious.

She smiled at him in a way that made him forget that Malfoys never felt weak in the knees and gently brushed her lips across his. His grey eyes widened and he was suddenly very glad that Pansy was still in the Great Hall. She would be furious when she found out that Draco had quit the game forever just because of a chaste brush of the lips with a Gryffindor.

>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>.>

In a quiet corner of the dungeons, two first year Slytherins cowered in fear. They had not yet learned to completely cover it up, but very few would have been able to had they been facing the creature before them.

Her eyes tapering into slits of alarmingly glowing violet, Pansy very _very_ calmly inquired "And then he did what?"

One of the first years squeaked as the other fainted dead away.


	6. Interventus

* * *

See disclaimer on bio page. Enjoy! 

"That arrogant, insufferable, bleach blond prat! Just wait till I find him. Too good for the rules I suppose. Damn him; he made up most of them. Inbred, snobby metrosexual." Pansy's diatribe tumbled off into low muttering. She had been like this for several hours now.

Blaise sat in a corner trying frantically to remember the spell of disillusionment so that he could leave the common room. He looked at the violet silk handkerchief that Pansy was currently shredding. If that was what she was planning for Draco, the poor bloke didn't have a chance. Blaise felt that it was his duty to warn his friend and fellow male that it might be a good idea to find somewhere else to sleep for a few months until Pansy's rage subsided enough that Draco would be relatively safe. Unfortunately, Blaise had not yet devised a way to escape without drawing Pansy's notice. A wiggling mass of green jelly on the common room rug that had once been a fourth year was all the warning Blaise needed to stay out of Pansy's range.

At that moment however, Draco entered the room. He glanced at the blob on the floor and muttered at it. The fourth year emerged, covered in green gelatinous material and terrified, but otherwise all right. She seemed to be a bit dazed however, and was still quivering, resembling the glob she had so recently been. Draco looked around and spotted Blaise.

"Blaise, take her to the hospital wing will you. There are often nasty side effects to Pansy's curses. Especially when she's in a foul mood."

Draco seemed perfectly calm and not at all frightened. He was even presenting his back to Pansy. Blaise shook his head in admiration. Crazy wanker. He certainly had some balls. Dragging the trembling fourth year with him, Blaise made his getaway, fervently hoping that there would be enough of Draco left to salvage when Pansy was through with him.

Pansy was a little stunned by Draco's entrance. He hadn't been this much in control in months. In fact, she hadn't seen him this calm for a long time. However, it wasn't enough to make her forget her anger with him.

"So, are you happy with yourself? You've broken your own rules Drake. You know what that means." Pansy advanced upon her best friend, wand drawn. He didn't flinch.

"Give me the punishment Pansy. It's worth it." Draco smirked at her. Somehow that smirk was even more irritating than usual. She realized that his acceptance of the punishment made it infinitely less satisfying. He _expected_ her to punish him damn it! He was indulging her like she was a whiny brat. Pansy lowered her wand and smiled sweetly.

"Fine Draco. I shall simply carry out my own conquest. By the time I finish with him, you will probably have remembered why we came up with the rules in the first place. By nature, you can't trust her. You will always be suspicious. She will bring out your weaknesses Draco. And when you become bored with her, you won't be able to move on. You'll be caught in a trap of your own devising. A trap the Gryffindorks prize highly. You yourself said that love is for those unintelligent enough to believe in such fairy tales. Then you'll come crawling back to me, asking me to help you. And you know what Draco? I will, but you will regret asking me for it for the rest of your days."

There was enough doubt in Draco's eyes for Pansy to know that she had hit upon a few sore spots, but it didn't linger long enough to suit Pansy's desire for vengeance. Draco recovered that air of complete surety he had when he first walked into the room. He simply shook his head at her and walked past her to the stairs that led down to the Slytherin sleeping quarters. Pansy watched him closely. Had he seen her expression, he might have been more wary. At the top of the stairs, he tripped over nothing. Pansy listened to him roll down the stairs with satisfaction. She knew that his quick reflexes would save him from the worst damage, but the muffled swearing when he reached the bottom and fell into a pit of mud that suddenly appeared was certainly gratifying.

* * *

It was Pansy's move again. They had been at this all month, and Pansy was more and more impressed with Ron Weasley's ability to play the game. He was presenting more of a challenge then any opponent she had faced thus far. She had so far avoided tactics such as appearing anywhere naked before him—she liked subtlety in her games. Draco had been the one who often would simply cut to the chase and seduce a girl without much foreplay. Pansy snickered, but then frowned.

Draco. Damn bastard.

He was still fawning over the Weaselette. What was truly irritating is that instead of displaying weaknesses, Draco actually seemed to have acquired a relaxed self-assurance he had never before possessed. He had always been a bit high-strung, like a very fine well-bred, spoiled race horse. However, as he spent more time with that red headed chit, and by proxy with other They-Shall-Remain-Unnamed Gryffindors, he seemed to settle down. She had even seen him cautiously joking with Potter of all people. She growled, but was forced to give up her contemplation when her target came into sight. This spell should have an interesting reaction.

Grinning wickedly, Pansy whispered "Asotus Odus."

Weasley didn't react immediately, but that was to be expected. Men didn't have as developed a sense of smell as females. It took a moment for him to slow down and start to look around. He began to take deep breaths, breathing in the intoxicating scent around him. He looked around again, this time with a frown of concentration on his face. Then a strange look came into his eyes—something compounded of horror, embarrassment, and modicum of amusement. He saluted, probably knowing Pansy was hiding somewhere she could watch her spell take effect, conceding her victory for now. Then he quickly, but awkwardly, headed for the loo.

Pansy simpered. Her face was flushed with triumph, her hair, still currently black, curling around her face and hanging free down her back. Had she known it, a passing fifth year from Hufflepuff was staring at her trying to decide whether he should be terrified or turned on. Pansy had that effect.

Fortunately for the fifth year, she didn't even notice him. She was too busy congratulating herself on the ridiculously complicated spell she had just cast on Weasley. It had taken her almost a week to figure out how to cobble together what she wanted, but Pansy was one of the most talented witches when it came to hexes. It was a rather brilliant piece of work. Weasley would be haunted by Pansy's scent for the next three days. It would follow him wherever he went. He was familiar with it. A touch of lavender with a hint of chocolate. He had commented on it during one of their brief verbal sparring contests. She enjoyed those immensely. It was like rather aggressively competitive flirting. She had known because of his comment that he would know immediately what he smelled. Of course, he probably wouldn't realize right away that Pansy had included an inordinate amount of pheromones in her spell. Pansy knew that the scent of her surrounding him would force him to think of her while he dealt with the pressing effects of the pheromones. One step closer to victory.

Pansy suddenly paused in her self congratulatory consideration. She sniffed. Ginger and a light smell of soap met her olfactory senses. Weasley…she looked around.

What the hell? Had Weasley already turned the tables on her? That was impossible. He wasn't in the hallway, and he couldn't possibly have picked up the variant of the spell she had cast. Nevertheless, she could already feel the spell working on her. Her eyes widened. Her lips became parched and she licked them, trying to fight the effects. The fifth year Hufflepuff fainted. Pansy didn't even notice. She was too busy fighting the images her creative and vivid imagination was providing

…Strong freckled arms…pale skin…warm blue eyes…red hair she wanted to tangle her fingers in…

"Bloody hell!"

Pansy ran all the way back to the Slytherin dungeons and the solitude of her curtained bed. Millicent watched from her bed, where she was reading. When Pansy cast silencing spells and imperturbables, Millicent shook her head. Pansy was incorrigible. It was the middle of the afternoon!

From the alcove behind the statue of Erose the Eager near where Pansy had been hiding came a snickering sound and a hiccup.

* * *

Ron washed his face again and glanced at himself in the mirror. He had to hand it to Pansy—she certainly knew how to get a guy's attention. However, she didn't know just what an effect this was going to have on him. Despite his best efforts, he was actually really beginning to like Pansy. She was witty and clever rather than overly intellectual like some people he knew. Also, she was beautiful. He wondered how he had missed that. Her nose still turned up at the end, but he found it rather endearing—and it helped her beauty to be human rather than too perfect. He enjoyed this battle of wills. It was like a game of chess being played by two masters. Ron hadn't known just how devious he could be until he began playing this game. He also picked up some idea of what Pansy was like from Malfoy, who often talked about her. The git missed her being around, since it seemed she was his best friend and they were arguing.

He grinned and shook his head at his reflection, wondering how long this spell would last this time. He seemed to spend way too much time in the bathroom and unused corridors and classrooms. Ron hadn't had any idea that there were so many until he had reason to use them. Would this end up going well, or would it be a tragedy? He sighed and groaned in frustration.

The scent drifted around him again. Ron's groan turned into a moan.

"I am so fucked."

Myrtle tsked from a corner as Ron slammed the door to the stall in the corner. She smiled wickedly at the sounds she heard however, and went on her way to report the progress to a certain rather mad house elf who had enlisted her help.


	7. Dulced Ficus

A/N: As always, the disclaimer can be found on my bio page. Here it is folks! A new chapter for a new year. There's one more chapter left, so stay tuned for the match point of this little game.

Ron sighed as he leaned his head against the cool stones of the dungeon wall. This was getting to be ridiculous. Pansy's spell had finally worn off, but Ron didn't seem to need any extra encouragement to think of Pansy in connection with pleasure. He really needed to talk to her though. He felt certain that another player had entered their game. Just the other day, he was sure that he heard sniggering coming from behind a statue after he and Pansy had enjoyed one of their flirting sessions. However, no one was there when he went to look. He'd even swept his hand around the area, keeping in mind Harry's invisibility cloak, but nothing had come of it.

Hermione had become something of an issue as well. All of a sudden, she seemed to hang on his every word and take every opportunity to touch him. The other day he had pulled away from her instinctively, and she had just exploded.

"I suppose you would rather consort with harlots. How could you Ronald Weasley? I-I thought you loved me!" Hermione practically wailed the last line and everyone in the common room was staring at them.

Ron had been more than angry at this point. "Shut up! What I do is not your business anymore Hermione. Go back to writing letters to Viktor. You've chosen him, so stick with him. I've moved on. It's time you do the same."

She had stormed off heatedly and in tears. Ginny had seemed torn. In this case she actually somewhat agreed with her brother. However, _he_ wasn't in tears and he had Harry if he needed to talk. Shooting an apologetic look Ron's way, she hurried after the other girl.

Harry had been sitting next to them during this argument. Ron turned to him almost wearily.

"So I suppose you're going to yell at me too."

"Why would I care who you're dating or messing around with so long as you're happy, mate. Besides, I'm dating Blaise and you haven't said a thing about it, so I think I owe you one."

Ron regarded Harry with something akin to shock. He was certain that he looked like a fish that had fallen quite suddenly out of its bowl. How had he missed this development? There had to have been some foreshadowing, but he couldn't even remember suspecting that Harry might swing that way.

Harry, meanwhile, had been gazing nonchalantly at Ron. However, he began to laugh and took pity on his friend. "I'm just kidding, Ron."

"Oh. Umm, okay…"

"Blaise isn't my type at all. I prefer blondes…" At Ron's startled look, Harry shook his head and laughed again. "Really Ron, lighten up. I think that all of this mess with Pansy and Hermione has gotten to you. You've chosen; now make that choice worth the trouble it will cause you later with Hermione. I'm knackered, mate. I'm for sleep." Still laughing, Harry walked up the stairs to the dorms. Ron had made a mental note to spend more time with Harry—he must have way too much spare time on his hands if he was making jokes as odd as the one he just pulled. At least, Ron hoped he had been joking…

In any case, Ron was on his way to talk to Malfoy. It was actually a rather good thing for Ginny that Ron had been dealing with Pansy, or he would have had more time and energy to berate his sister for her appalling taste in men. However, Ron had to admit that Draco had been civil, and the few times he hadn't Ginny had quickly prodded him into apologizing. Half the time Ron suspected Malfoy didn't even notice that he had offended someone. Of course, he had Ginny to notice such things. Ron could almost feel sorry for Malfoy. Ginny was just as much a firebrand as Molly Weasley. Ron sobered as he imagined the conversation that he and Ginny would soon have to have with their mother about their respective relationships—if Ron could even count what he had with Pansy as a relationship. That was why he needed to see Draco. Hence the reason he was standing outside of the Slytherin common room waiting for him to appear.

"You must really like her." The cool, cultured tones slid into Ron's thoughts so smoothly he didn't even jump. He simply turned and nodded at Malfoy cautiously. Then he just looked at the Slytherin, unsure of where to start.

Draco sighed and looked at the red head, wondering what in the world Pansy saw in him. However, he knew if he was ever going to get his best friend back, he would have to get her to accept that the game was over. The only way he could do that was if she herself fell for someone. Weasley was the closest Draco had ever seen her come and as much as he detested the idea on principle, he missed her enough to help Weasley as much as he could. Besides, he owed it to Ginny.

"You want to know a little bit about the game and whether or not Pansy is attainable." Draco didn't make it a question. Ron simply nodded.

Draco looked at Ron. "This is going to take awhile, so let's go sit down somewhere. Under the circumstances, I doubt my common room would be ideal, and with Granger on the warpath, Gryffindor is out. Shall we go to the library? I'm supposed to meet Ginny there later anyway to study."

"Umm, sure." Ron had a flash of gratitude that they were going to somewhere populated. It wasn't that Draco was untrustworthy, exactly—it was just that Ron was in such a habit of not trusting the git. This was going to be a very…interesting conversation.

* * *

Ron left the library with a new appreciation for the complexities of the Slytherin mind. Strangely though, instead of feeling discouraged by the rules of the strange and perverse game that Malfoy and Pansy had come up with, Ron felt like he did when he had played that life or death game of Wizard's Chess back in second year. A little nervous, somewhat terrified, awed by the opponent, and completely exhilarated. The game was in some ways truly inspired—twisted—but inspired. He had to find Pansy. It was time to up the stakes.

* * *

Pansy once again checked her appearance in the mirror. She told herself that it was all part of the game. Simply a strategy. She was in this to win, right? 

Of course, lately she had been asking herself exactly what it was that she was trying to win. What exactly would be the outcome of this little charade? There were times when she forgot it was a game—when she looked into those blue eyes and he smiled just at her, when she teased him about his freckles. She almost…

Pansy cut of that thought viciously. Stop it. Just stop it. Relationships are cages—golden cages perhaps—but cages nonetheless. Besides, it would never work. He was a bloody noble Potter-loving Gryffindor. She was the Slytherin—she stopped. The Slytherin Slut. That was what they called her behind her back in the other houses. They wouldn't dare in her won house—she had too many powerful friends…like Draco. Damn that arrogant prick—she missed him and she had to keep telling herself that this was all his fault.

Composing herself carefully, she wiped all traces of emotion from her face. This wasn't the time to be questioning her motives or her actions. She was a Slytherin. She had her pride and she wore it like Snape wore his robes. It was time to meet her opponent.

* * *

He was leaning against the wall outside potions, which was her next class. There was something…different in the way that he was standing—just a bit straighter maybe—that put her on her guard immediately. He looked up, sensing her as he seemed able to do recently, and she was suddenly engulfed in hot blue intensity that drilled straight through her carefully prepared, already brittle defenses. She made herself catch her breath and painstakingly rebuilt them—or at least the semblance of them. He moved forward with the air of a predator hunting particularly delectable prey. There was a hungry look about him as he stalked towards her, reminding her of the way he approached the Gryffindor table at meal times—which made her think of his insatiable appetite—which made her think of…oh Morganna! 

That bastard was changing his strategy mid-game.

"Hello, Pansy."

Pansy barely repressed the shiver that traced up her spine. Then she lazily stretched her arms over her head, keeping eye contact with him, breathing in slowly as she stretched her spine. His eyes followed her movements, and she detected a slight change in his breathing.

She smiled and leaned forward just a bit. "Check."

His eyes narrowed, and he moved around her, sliding so that he almost was touching her, but never really doing it. Pansy felt his breath ghost across her neck like the brief heat of sunlight. She turned, a hand reaching up to loosen the collar of her shirt, but paused.

Ron was resting an elbow against the wall just over her head, already loosening his tie, the freckles on his collarbone peeking around the white button-up he wore. Her eyes flicked suddenly up to his.

He grinned. "Check."

A crowd had somewhat gathered at that point on both sides of the opponents—mostly students who were in potions and those who had walked with them. They watched, fascinated, as the oblivious pair continued their strange dance.

Pansy stepped out from underneath the shadow of Ron's arm, twirling gracefully away and then looking over her shoulder, while she undid the top two buttons of her blouse. She placed herself slightly out of reach, but offered him the rather tantalizing expanse of creamy flesh at her throat.

In the crowd, Draco and Ginny watched in slightly spellbound disbelief. Harry had come up next to Ginny, chuckling quietly, with Blaise slightly behind him.

Blaise watched the scene with growing, rather shocked admiration for Ron. He noticed with some amazement that each time they moved, they each ended up on a different square of the granite flagstone floor. Each move was intricate, like a well-choreographed dance, but somehow spontaneous and passionate. Then he heard Pansy say "check." Merlin, it was deliberate! Every little move on their part was thought out. This had to be the steamiest game of chess he'd ever seen.

Then Ron managed to get behind her again. He gently caught hold of one of her dark curls and leaned over until his lips brushed her ear.

"Check," he breathed, his voice husky.

She turned to look at him, their faces so close that they were breathing each other's air. Then the bell rang and she slipped away, her curl trailing through his fingers like silk.

Those students who needed to get to potions stood a moment, completely gobsmacked by what they had witnessed, before the threat of Snape's tardy punishment forced them to move.

Ginny leaned up to whisper in Draco's ear. "Are you certain you have to go to potions today?"

He looked down at her, taking in her slightly flushed cheeks, her light fluttering breath, and the expression in her eyes which surely matched his own. "No, Snape loves me. I don't think it's really necessary for me to go today." With that, he grabbed her hand and they hurried down the corridor.

Harry and Blaise exchanged amused glances.

"Isn't that the direction of the Slytherin dormitories, Blaise?"

"It is indeed."

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle, Hagrid was holding a barely civil conversation with Filch. 

"Thumping thestrals, ye old caretaker. I'm givin' him my permission ter visit my hut. Ron's goin ter look out fer Fang while I'm gone. I don't want you stampin' around and scarin' him. He's got Dumbledore's permission to stay the night, seein' as how Fang's scared of the dark."

Flich sneered, his beady eyes showing intense dislike for the half-giant. But he dared not protest too much if Dumbledore had agreed to this. He nodded curtly and left, mumbling about how students were given too many freedoms these days and how they should be locked in their dormitories at night. Ms. Norris waited until Filch had left to allow Hagrid to pet her, before following her master from the room.

Hagrid snorted mightily and stumped off to find Ron and give him some final instructions. Harry had detention this week, and Hermione was not very agreeable recently, so Ron had volunteered. Fang like him a lot anyway.

In the hallway behind him, a strange noise could be heard from within a cedar cabinet. Winky was humming to herself happily as she dusted the artifacts inside.

* * *

Later that day, Pansy received an invitation. It was on beautiful creamy paper. There was a chess piece on the front, a black queen, highlighted with silver and green accents. Inside was written: 'Queen to Hagrid's hut, 8:30 tonight. Your move.' There was no signature, only a tiny white knight embossed under the message. 

Pansy smiled before she could help herself. The look in her eyes made the portrait on the wall blush.


	8. Noli me vocare, ego te vocabo

A/N: Wow! It's finished. Sorry it took so long folks, but it's been a wonderful journey. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Reviews are an author's meat and drink.

As always, see disclaimer on bio page.

Pansy looked up at the storm clouds building in the sky and cursed loudly. If she didn't hurry, she would be soaked. The clouds looked ready to drop torrential rain at any moment. Trust Ron to call her out to a hut in the middle of a monsoon. She attempted to ignore the fact that she was the idiot actually going out to a tiny hut in said monsoon willingly. She felt a drop of rain on her face just as she reached the door of the groundskeepers hut. Pansy knocked loudly. There was no way she wanted Ron to open the door and see her looking like a drowned rat.

Ron peeked out a crack in the door. When he saw who it was, he opened the door wide and pulled Pansy inside, his eyes taking in the state of the sky. He closed the door quickly. As soon as he did, sheets of rain began to batter down on the roof of the hut. Pansy was a little surprised that the roof didn't leak, but it seemed that the hut was well made. It was also cozier and cleaner than she had expected, with a fire going and a chessboard sitting on the table. Ron had obviously been playing himself since the pieces were arrayed across the board in the semblance of battle. She glanced up at Ron expecting to see him looking sly or smug, but his expression only held confusion.

"Pansy, I'm glad to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Pansy frowned. "You sent me an invitation this afternoon."

Ron looked at her in shock, shaking his head slowly, then his eyes narrowed. "I knew that there was another person interfering. All those times our spells backfired on each other…"

For some reason, this made Pansy angry. She had thought the invitation a brilliant move, and truth to tell, she had expected tonight to be the night that she would win this little game. She was starting to fear that if she didn't end it, she wouldn't be able to walk away from him. His proximity was making her breathing quicken, and she knew she had to get away. This wasn't a part of the game. Neither of them had made this move.

Damn. She hated people interfering with her business…especially when she didn't know who it could be. Pansy began to pace in a way that reminded Ron uneasily of a caged panther. She began to mutter. "Bloody hell, who could it be? Whoever it is must be clever…a Slytherin? No, no one in our house would dare—" She stopped, then resumed her pacing. "No, he knows I would hex him like I did the last time, and he can't afford to lose another one…" Pansy chewed on her lip and glanced at Ron, noting the speculative gleam in his eye. He must know something. She waited expectantly. Ron simply looked at her and smiled, seemingly no longer concerned about the interloper in their game. Pansy felt a hot flush rise in her face, signaling that her anger was steadily rising.

"Well in that case, "she stated haughtily, "I'll just head back to the castle. I have other matters I could be attending to." She sauntered saucily to the door, but Ron grabbed her arm.

Pansy turned back to tell him just what she thought of men trying to keep her from going where she pleased, but his earnest expression stopped her.

"Pansy, wouldn't you rather stay here instead? It's raining nifflers and kneazles out there." He smiled softly. "We could play chess."

Just his words caused goose bumps on her skin as she remembered the way he had breathed in her ear during their last game of "chess". Her anger faded, only to be replaced by an emotion that caused a different kind of heat to suffuse through her body. Her eyes slid to the chess board and back to meet his steady gaze.

"Well, I suppose I have time enough to beat you once or twice."

Ron simply smiled and pulled out a chair for her.

* * *

Ron glanced out from beneath the hair falling over his forehead at Pansy. They had been playing for a little over an hour and she still hadn't beaten him. He could sense her frustration. Pansy was a more than decent player—good enough to have earned a reputation in Slytherin House. She wasn't used to losing, he could tell. But there was another emotion he couldn't read under the frustration. Almost like…fear. He wasn't certain why she would be afraid or losing a game of chess, but there it was—in the way she twirled a curl when he took another of her pieces, in the way her breath fluttered in and out of her throat. Pansy was scared.

Barely glancing at the chess board, Ron moved his queen. "Checkmate in four moves."

Pansy just glared at him. This certainly wasn't going the way she had planned. Ron could tell just by looking at her. He had managed to put Pansy off balance. Apparently, Slytherin dorm had not heard much about Ron's ability at Wizard's Chess. He actually managed to look smugly at her without looking stupid. But then a strange gleam came into her eyes. She licked her lips as if she were imagining the taste of something delicious. Ron's pulse suddenly shot up more than could be warranted from simply winning a game of chess. She leaned forward, and her voice was husky when she spoke.

"Why don't we…try something different?"

Ron was wary. Pansy had her Slytherin game face on. That meant she was up to something sneaky. Still, Ron knew that he had been holding his own with her. Strategizing was something he could handle. This move and countermove relationship had given Ron a little bit more confidence in himself. This had nothing to do with Harry or Hermione. His games with Pansy belonged to them only. He grinned at her, letting a little of his confidence show. "What do you suggest?"

"Just something to make the next game a little more interesting…"

* * *

Pansy scowled at the chess board. It wasn't her favorite ploy, but it had always worked in the past with other games and other boys. They would play strip chess and Ron would be less and less able to focus as clothing was removed. After all, Pansy had never before met a boy who could truly focus around a scantily clad female—except for Draco of course, and that Weasley chit had done him in without removing a single article of clothing.

The Weasley in front of her seemed similarly unaffected by the rules to which Pansy was accustomed. If anything, his playing had improved one she began removing her clothes. In fifteen minutes, he had managed to divest her of everything but her bra and her skirt. He had only lost his robe and shirt. Pansy's eyes flickered to his toned body even as she cursed herself for a fool. She had seen it before, when this whole charade had begun—when she had been assiduously counting his freckles. She couldn't understand why she couldn't tear her eyes away now. Maybe it was knowing somewhat the kind of strategy of which he was capable. He was no longer just a body to give her pleasure—the twists of his mind fascinated her. Pansy had no idea that Gryffindors were able to come up with such devious spells and plans.

She glanced up and realized that he was smirking. Looking at the board, she grimaced in dismay as another of her pieces was smashed to bits. Not wanting to give him satisfaction, she slid her skirt off under the table and flipped it onto the pile of clothes beside her. He didn't even take his eyes from hers. It wasn't that he wasn't interested—of that she was certain. His gaze was intense in a way that sent thrills of expectation spinning through her body, running shadowy caresses up her nerve endings. At the same time, it scared her witless. More so than she had ever been, and that was saying a great deal. The confidence in his face was part of what frightened her. He wasn't reacting to her because he knew which way the game was going.

Pansy chose her next move carefully. Somehow, it seemed very important to make the right move. Thinking of Ron's first gift to her, the knight he'd enchanted so carefully, she knew what to do. She watched as her black queen smashed Ron's white knight to small pieces. She hoped he would catch the symbolism. Searching his face for signs she had struck a nerve, Pansy only saw signs of amusement. He understood the mockery of her move, but he also understood the underlying reasoning behind it.

He met her eyes as he made his next move. His other knight, seemingly coming out of nowhere, took her queen, and too late Pansy saw the trap into which she'd fallen. Her mouth dry, Pansy watched the words ghost over Ron's lips. It wasn't good to be jealous of air.

"Check mate."

Pansy's last bit of armor—lacy, green armor—fluttered to the ground like a bird taken by the hunt.

* * *

"Scourgify."

Ron's soft spell brought Pansy to her senses. She watched as he muttered the longer incantation that restored the chess pieces and cleared away the game. He had his back to her as he placed the game on a shelf high along the wall of the hut. His muscles rippled under his freckled skin, and Pansy suddenly remembered Draco telling her how much training a keeper had to do to stay in shape for Quidditch. He had been grousing about Slytherin's keeper, who was a rather lazy fellow.

She forced herself to focus. Why was this so damn difficult? Why was this situation so different from all the other times she had found herself in a less than fully clothed state with a boy? Subconsciously, she knew the answer, but Pansy was stubbornly ignoring that part of her mind. The truth of it all was that when it came down to it, she didn't want Draco to have been right. If she left right now and insisted on ending the game, she knew that Weasley wouldn't persist. No matter how clever his mind, he was still a Gryffindor and a gentleman.

Then he turned and raised his head to look at her. Blue seared through her, blistering and intense, and she knew that she wouldn't leave. No one had ever looked at her like this. She had seen people look at her with lust, fear, admiration, hatred…but how could a gaze seem to devour you and replenish you at the same time? His eyes never leaving hers, he slipped out of his remaining clothes, once again putting them on an even playing field, giving up willingly his advantage over her. Her breathing came in quick bursts and her knees felt like they wouldn't be able to lift her from the seat where she still sat, naked and without any of her usual defenses. Dizziness washed over her, and she wondered if she had stopped breathing without noticing. Then his lips were on hers, and breathing no longer seemed to be all that important.

He pulled her to her feet, and into his arms, skin brushing skin. Pansy's eyes fluttered closed and she knew she should curse herself for her weakness and promising herself she would…later.

Still kissing her slowly and heatedly, each sigh and breath seeming to bring them both closer, Ron gently laid her back on Hagrid's table. She almost told him to stop—she could only imagine what else had been on that table, but now Ron's earlier muttered spell had made sense. He had scourgified the table. The git had planned this. Pansy begin to struggle in indignation, but at that moment, Ron slid down to her stomach, cheek skimming warmly across her skin on the way.

Ron plunged his tongue into her belly button and laughed when Pansy shuddered. He was holding her hips down against the table and it was driving her mad. Pansy had just time enough to be grateful that the table was smoothly sanded before Ron leaned back over her body and kissed her surprisingly kindly. She looked up into the blue of his eyes, which were sparkling with glints of feigned innocence. Her violet eyes narrowed and filled with something very close to a predatory gleam.

She trailed her fingers, nail tips applying just the right amount of pressure, down Ron's abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that inevitably narrowed…and then she stopped, just shy of the destination she was certain her adversary desired. Pansy smiled, leaned forward and viciously bit Ron's shoulder, breaking the skin. She expected him to jerk back at the unexpected pain given where pleasure was expected. He didn't. The bastard actually smiled and kissed her on the nose. She looked back up into his eyes and noticed that they were filled with more desire than before. Well. That certainly made things more interesting.

She was so busy contemplating the heated look in his eyes, that she was startled when she felt warmth press against her. Pure, fiery heat. He was still looking directly into her eyes, and Pansy suddenly realized that he hadn't gone straight for her chest or anything else. Even though they were both stark naked, he seemed fascinated with studying her and…cherishing this moment. She looked away from the promises she saw in his eyes, not knowing if she was ready to accept them and make promises of her own.

Ron brushed a hand against her cheek and trailed his fingertips down her throat, across her collarbone, and down her side, lightly brushing her breast, causing her to shudder involuntarily. She looked up and was shocked to see him blushing. He had seemed so confident, but the flush of his pale skin told her otherwise. Somehow, that restored Pansy's own confidence because she was on solid ground here. She had dealt with nervous boys before. Grinning wolfishly, she captured his freckled, callused hand in her own manicured, smooth one and placed it brazenly on the breast that he had brushed. She watched as his pupils dilated and smugly thought to herself that even in this position she could still make a decent countermove. He hadn't won this completely. His victory would not come so easily.

Studying her silently, Ron decided that Pansy was still trying to play the game. He smiled lovingly at her, and was rewarded when she scowled. Ron realized that he would have been disappointed in her had she given up so easily. Leaning down slowly, keeping eye contact with her until the very last moment, Ron gently brushed a kiss across her hardening nipple. He felt Pansy shiver underneath him. His muscles were straining at the position, but he didn't want to give into them yet. This was the most delicate strategy game he had played yet, and one that he couldn't suffer the loss of –he had only newly converted to his belief in the possibility of this relationship.

Lowering himself on top of her, Ron Weasley began his worship.

In the corner, Fang woofed quietly and covered his eyes with his ears.

* * *

Pansy couldn't say how long Ron had been reducing her to incoherent need, but if he didn't take her soon, she felt that she might just explode. It wasn't that she truly wanted to end this slow, rapturous torture…she just didn't think she could handle much more.

She gasped again as he gently nipped the inside of her thigh and brushed against the cleft between her legs with his cheek. Then his fingers were inside her, finally, and she thought she might cry because it felt like her blood was singing with magic as he brushed his fingers over sensitive flesh, but she knew what she really wanted and what he had to want. Merlin he must be a saint to have lasted so long.

Pansy looked at Ron's face. His eyes were closed, focusing on the administrations of his fingers. She realized suddenly what he was doing. Her mother had once told her about finding a man who made sure his partner received as much or greater pleasure than himself and held back until he was certain he had accomplished this goal. Pansy's mother had told her never to let him go if she found him. Her mother said this while nursing a firewhiskey and looking around fearfully to make certain Pansy's father wasn't around. That was the only time Pansy really remembered her mother outwardly showing even a spark of anything other than bland, bovine contentment. Pansy had often wondered about that as she watched her mother drink herself to death.

At that moment, Ron's eyes opened as if he sensed Pansy's thoughts. He slid up her body, every movement a delicate torment of sensation. As he looked at her, his breathing showing that he needed this as much as Pansy hoped he did, his eyes asked a question. In answer, Pansy pulled him down and rolled him over. He looked startled for a moment, looking up at her, but he seemed to realize her intention and if the look on his face was anything to go by, he wasn't averse to the idea at all.

Pansy liked to be in control. There was so much in her life that had been dictated for her. That was part of the reason that she had like the game. She controlled every aspect of her liaisons. With only her and her friends' parents' marriages as models of how relationships went, she had always thought that being in a relationship would mean that she no longer would have any control in any aspect. But if Ron was willing to let her do this, then maybe things would be all right.

Reaching down, she gave some attention to Ron, realizing that this was the first time that she had really touched him. He was so close that she couldn't do too much, because she wanted him to be sheathed inside her when he gave up his control. The entire time, he had his eyes locked on her face, letting his expression tell her everything she needed to know.

Pansy returned the gaze as she straddled him and aligned herself carefully. She lowered herself slowly, letting gravity help and felt muscles stretching that hadn't been stretched like this the entire time she and Ron had been playing their game. That fidelity should have been her first clue she thought vaguely, distracted by the look on Ron's face and the feeling of him inside her as they slid together, creating friction and increasing the heat they were generating. His hands were large and strong on her thighs and hips, helping her as she guided him.

It didn't take either of them long. Since Pansy was guiding him, she peaked before he did, but seeing her come undone was enough to take him with her. He sat up, with her still in his lap and wrapped his arms around her. They were both shaking, whether from physical exhaustion or strong emotion, Pansy wasn't sure—perhaps both. She knew that was the case for her. Pansy had never actually slept with any of her conquests; she always left when the act was finished (or more likely kicked them out of her bed with a sneer and smirk). However, when Ron picked her up and put her on the big bed in the corner and lay down beside her, once again putting his arms around her, Pansy knew that this time, she was going to stay and that she would wake up in his arms in the morning.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley sat in the Hogshead lounging at one of the back tables. They were deep in conversation with a rather ragged looking hag with a monstrous cold when the bar tender alerted them that their next appointment had come. The twins concluded their business with the hag, who seemed satisfied about something and indicated that they were ready to see the other visitor. This was not dinner with a customer, but a celebration with a partner in mischief. A small wrinkled female house elf with a flower on her head made her way to their table, weaving slightly. Her eyes, however, were bright and clear.

The twins looked at her questioningly, and she grinned. It had been a success, the entire operation, with no one the wiser.

Fred, George, and Winky toasted each other.

"To uniting Hogwarts," Winky exclaimed.

Fred added, "To getting our brother,"

"and sister," George grinned.

"out of our hair and into the wonderful world of the truly and thoroughly shagged."

All three conspirators grinned and sipped their drinks.

* * *

Not too far away, in a tiny hut, one truly and thoroughly shagged Ronald Weasley looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms. He really would have to send his brothers a thank you note…but that could wait until morning.


End file.
